


Matt's Getting Married In The Morning

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, Drunk Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-09
Updated: 2009-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder comes home from Matt's bachelor party rather worse for wear...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matt's Getting Married In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> AU that draws on a hodge-podge of S3 canon

Gabriel is a heavy sleeper. It's not something that comes naturally to him, but since that Montana night, years ago, when he had murdered Dale and stolen her power, Gabriel has had to train himself to tune out distractions or risk his sanity. So, when Mohinder stumbles into the apartment, letting the door swing wide on its hinges and slam against the opposing wall, swearing and then shushing himself as he seems to ricochet from the corner of one table to the edge of the sofa to a hallway wall before staggering into their bedroom, Gabriel barely stirs. On some level, Gabriel's subconscious hears the noise, identifies it and dismisses it as not worth waking for.

He isn't roused by the sudden cold as the blankets are rudely pulled from him, nor by the chill of Mohinder's feet as they glance against the small of his back. Gabriel isn't awakened by the sultry breath on the nape of his neck or Mohinder's half-numb, uncoordinated hands as they fumble, groping beneath the elastic of Gabriel's boxers. Although, Gabriel is sure that given a minute longer, Mohinder's too-rough touch would have done the trick. It isn't even the heavy press on his back and side, near suffocating him, as Mohinder lolls against him, seemingly incapable of supporting his own weight even when lying down that drags Gabriel, learned heavy sleeper, back to consciousness, but instead, the unpleasant stench that appears to have followed Mohinder home.

"You stink, Mohinder."

"You're awake!" Mohinder slurs, leaning in to plant a loud, sloppy kiss on Gabriel's lips.

If at all possible, Mohinder tastes worse than he smells.

Gabriel groans, his body still lethargic with interrupted slumber, and he narrows his eyes at the stupid grin on Mohinder's face as he stares down on him with an unfocussed gaze. Even in the darkness of the room, Gabriel can see his teeth are red wine stained. He reeks of alcohol: beer and tequila chasers along with the wine. It's a combination that Gabriel's surprised Mohinder hasn't already regretted. When Gabriel pulls him down and presses his nose to Mohinder's dishevelled hair, he can smell cigar smoke clinging to Mohinder's skin and his clothes are imbued with the scent of sweat and cheap perfume. And under that, beneath it all, Mohinder seems steeped in the stench of stale, second-hand sex.

Mohinder is struggling to undress himself, so Gabriel settles on his back and gently bats Mohinder's hands away, stripping him of his shirt with hands that aren't shaking, too drunk to navigate the buttons back through the holes. Gabriel on his back must be an enticement too tempting for Mohinder to resist because he clamours over Gabriel, attempting to straddle him and narrowly missing kneeing him in the groin. He loses his balance and topples forward, giggling hysterically as Gabriel lets out a yelp and long puff of air. Mohinder lands with both palms flat to Gabriel's middle, knocking the wind from him and forming bruises that darken and then fade on his belly. Gathering Gabriel's t-shirt in two fists, Mohinder impatiently, and unsuccessfully, attempts to rip it off him.

"Enjoy the bachelor party?" Gabriel asks as with one hand he holds Mohinder at bay and with the other, he grabs his collar and pulls the t-shirt over his head, knowing that in some things, it is better to just give in.

"Yes," Mohinder slurs.

His "s's" sound more like "th's" and he's making a face that Gabriel knows is intended to be seductive or perhaps arousing, but only succeeds in looking ridiculous. His cheeks are flushed, his nose bright red from the booze and he's waggling his eyebrows like he's just heard the dirtiest limerick of his life. Gabriel lightly strokes his cheek and Mohinder doesn't bother to glance up from where he has buried his face in Gabriel's chest hair. Gabriel thinks the alcohol has probably numbed his skin and he wonders if Mohinder has felt the touch at all.

Mohinder bites at the crook of his neck and not for the first time, Gabriel's glad that he can heal. Mohinder isn't at his most considerate when he's been drinking and god only knows what kind of filthy and improbable sexual positions he's been dreaming up in the taxi ride between the strip club and home. Gabriel wishes he'd had the foresight to stretch instead trying to catch a few hours sleep before Mohinder's return.

Mohinder circles his hips over Gabriel's crotch, moving in time to a beat that only he can hear and tossing his head until his curls are swaying in every direction and Gabriel can't stifle his laughter any longer. Mohinder glares at him as best he can while three sheets to the wind which is to say, without much success at all, being as he is incapable of focusing on anything but middle distance.

"Did you get a lap dance?" Gabriel asks, although he knows for certain the answer is yes. Mohinder is humming 'You Can Leave You Hat On' badly off-key and Gabriel feels sure he's been getting a taste of what Mohinder's been on the receiving end of all night.

What he doesn't expect is Mohinder to say, with attempted nonchalance that fails dismally to hide the hint of guilt in his voice, "Nathan bought me one or two…"

"Nathan Petrelli?"

"He's a friend of Matt's!" Mohinder blurts out defensively. "And he bought them for everyone. So what if he kept staring at me?"

"He was staring at you?" Gabriel's brain must still be half-asleep, because it takes him a moment to get what Mohinder is driving at. "While you were getting a lap dance!?"

"Well… leering more than staring, I'd say," Mohinder babbles on as if he hasn't just announced that a high ranking government official was most likely, at this exact moment, getting his rocks off to the memory of Mohinder splayed out in the Champagne room with a buxom stripper grinding down on him for all her worth.

"Don't scowl like that," Mohinder says as Gabriel splutters incoherently. He's trapped in a midway point between a jealous rage and a strange surreal feeling as if he's about to wake for real and find that this has all been a figment of his overwrought imagination.

"Besides," Mohinder continues. "It would have been rude to decline."

Mohinder's inability to properly form his words means that his haughty tone falls short in conveying, as he no doubt intends, his disgust for Gabriel's naiveté with regards to the social niceties when attending a titty bar with the upper crust of New York society. He sits back and pouts, and Gabriel can't help but appreciate the way that Mohinder's ass seems to settle form fittingly over his growing erection. If he didn't have serious doubts about Mohinder's coordination in his current condition, Gabriel would have sworn it was a deliberate tease. A smirk and a wriggle of Mohinder's hips makes him begin to think that nothing sobers Mohinder up like an opportunity to act out of spite.

"Ok, ok," Gabriel relents when Mohinder turns his face away as Gabriel tries to kiss him.

Privately, Gabriel thinks he should be the one pouting considering Mohinder's tongue tastes like a day old ashtray that's been doused in stale beer. But even at his most unattractive, Mohinder still turns him on and the truth of it is, he rather likes the way Mohinder is sliding his hips back and forth, riding along the length of his clothed cock. The heat that's pooling between his thighs has a tendency to put Gabriel in a very forgiving mood.

"It's fine, Mohinder. You can accept as many lap dances from your would be sugar daddies as you like. As long as you come home to me, it's none of my business."

"That doesn't sound like much of an apology."

"No. No, it doesn't," Gabriel agrees. He flashes a winning smile that earns him a roll of the eyes and a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of Mohinder's mouth.

He clutches at Mohinder's hips to help steady his movements and beneath his left palm, he can feel the solid lump of the ring box in Mohinder's pocket. It takes a bit of tricky manoeuvring, because it seems that as well as bringing out the exhibitionist for hire in Mohinder, alcohol makes him ticklish, but eventually Gabriel manages to wrestle the ring from Mohinder's pants. He places it on the bedside table, secure in the knowledge that in the morning at least, hungover and no doubt running late for the ceremony, Mohinder will appreciate not having to scrabble on the floor and in the sheets for wherever the velvet box might later fall.

"How's Matt?" Gabriel asks. His words interrupt an impromptu rendition of Mohinder's best man speech and he makes a mental note to tell Mohinder in the morning that joking about whether Matt and Daphne intend on spending their 'til death do us part' in Chandra's apartment isn't in the best of taste. "No sign of cold feet?"

"Pfft," Mohinder scoffs. "It's not like he hasn't gotten married before!"

Gabriel's mouth gapes open but his eye catches the clock. It's 3 am and really, he should leave that one alone because despite Mohinder's returning hand-eye coordination (evidenced perfectly then, as he deftly pinches both of Gabriel's nipples with pinpoint accuracy) he's still too inebriated to be fully aware of what he's babbling. In vino veritas may be held a universal truth, but Gabriel doubts that Mohinder honestly sees Matt's failed marriage with Janice as something he'd take comfort in when going down the aisle for take two.

"I mean," Mohinder continues, staring at Gabriel, exasperated. "In the future. They're already married in the future, and they're happy. It isn't like they have anything to worry about."

"Not every future comes true," Gabriel whispers. He tries not to think about what Peter had told him once, in confidence, about a world where he had a child who died because of him and Mohinder was no part of his life.

"This will," Mohinder insists. "For them, it will. They'll be happy."

He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, gaze flicking about the room as if he expects a spy to be lurking between their laundry hamper and the stack of genetics journals heaped on their chest of drawers. "It's still a secret, but… Daphne's pregnant!"

Mohinder claps his hand over his mouth and giggles breathlessly. "Matt told me tonight. But it's all hush-hush. Daphne doesn't want her dad to know that they were, _you know_, before the wedding. He's not the biggest fan of Matt as it is."

A slight thrill of scandal shivers through him at the thought of Daphne getting knocked up before the ring is on her finger, but Mohinder's glee is infectious and it drowns out the prudish part of Gabriel that seems to survive no matter what commandments he himself has broken.

"You're right," he breathes. "They'll be happy."

"You should come!" Mohinder says impulsively.

"Mohinder…" he warns.

"No, no, you _should_! You can be my plus one. You _are_ my plus one and people need to accept that."

"But Molly…" Gabriel says gently. He doesn't want to put a damper on Mohinder's drunken high but they've talked about this seriously before and Matt's wedding isn't the time or place to take a stand about their relationship.

Mohinder's frowning now and Gabriel knows that he's beating himself up for the momentary lapse; that he's wondering if out of sight really does mean out of mind and that he's a terrible absentee parent. Gabriel touches his chin softly and he glances up, a little surprised, as if despite still straddling Gabriel, he has been so lost in his thoughts that he has forgotten Gabriel's presence.

"Tell me about the strippers," Gabriel demands in a desperate attempt to ward off Mohinder's threatening bout of melancholy.

"You wouldn't like them," Mohinder snorts. "All women."

Gabriel laughs, but it's more in relief that Mohinder's still intoxicated enough to be so easily distracted than at the teasing. "I like women too…" he protests, weakly.

"But not like this," Mohinder says, waving aside his objection. "These women are all legs and hips and pouty lips."

He's grinding his ass into Gabriel's crotch again, and he waves his hands in a vague approximation of an hourglass figure. Gabriel thinks that's somewhat unfair to Elle. She had had legs and hips and lips, that while not pouty per se, had been soft and deliciously warm against his. And so what if her legs were shorter than Mohinder's ideal, her hips narrower and her ass tighter. That didn't mean Mohinder could dismiss her out of hand. Except, Gabriel had killed her, like he had her father, and Mohinder's father and maybe that's why Mohinder would rather forget, when the alcohol was there, crying out to be used as an excuse, that Gabriel had been with a woman at all.

Mohinder's hips move in double quick time and though Gabriel feels as though he shouldn't be aroused, not when his mind has wandered to past lovers and past selves, he can't help the way his body reacts when Mohinder writhes on him like this.

"Breasts," Mohinder moans wistfully. "Beautiful, curvy women with big, beautiful breasts."

He's fondling Gabriel's chest now, cupping his pectorals as if he expects, or maybe hopes, that a pair of breasts will magically appear. Gabriel arches up into his hands just to watch Mohinder's expression falter in confusion as the touch of firm muscle and wiry hair grates over his palms at odds with whatever fantasy is replaying in Mohinder's mind.

With eidetic memory, Gabriel remembers what it was like to feel Maya's breasts pressing hot and full and warm against his chest. How hard her nipples felt, even through her shirt, against his shower damp torso. Though he has never held them in his hands, Mohinder has, and when it comes to women, Mohinder definitely has a type.

"Liked that, huh?" Gabriel whispers. He tries to visualise Mohinder in the strip club, with scantily clad women all around, falling over themselves to service a client who is genuinely attractive for once. He even tries to picture Nathan Petrelli, hovering in the background like a pervert. But his imagination fails and all he can think about is Mohinder waking up one day and wanting everything that Gabriel cannot give him: warm breasts, children, a relationship that doesn't make him feel as if he's disrespecting his father's memory every moment they're together, and he wonders if it's really fair to ask Mohinder to give that up when he has only himself to offer in return.

So, Gabriel concentrates on the friction between his legs and on the caress of Mohinder's hand on his chest. He inhales deeply and relishes the sour odour that floods his nostrils, clinging to anything that reminds him that this is the _now_ and that for their own for better or worse, he and Mohinder have moved past the sins that have gone before.

Mohinder's still muttering about breasts and how sexy the women at the club had been. He's telling Gabriel in explicit, horny detail about the dances he's seen but he's running a restless hand over the crease on Gabriel's brow and chewing his bottom lip. Gabriel realises that drunk or not, Mohinder knows that he's thinking unpalatable thoughts and is playing up the bachelor party to spark something, jealousy, arousal, anger, anything to stop him wallowing.

"Breasts?" he tries. He takes Mohinder's hands, still worrying his nipples and he presses them flat to his chest, cocking an eyebrow as if shocked to find no breasts beneath Mohinder's palms.

"Breasts…" Mohinder whispers in his ear, "…are all well and good. But, right now, I have a terrible craving for cock."

"Oh god, Mohinder," he gasps because with Mohinder's words, Mohinder's hand has plummeted down the front of his boxers. It shouldn't be arousing when Mohinder talks like this. It's hack and ridiculous and if the lights were on and the curtains flung open and Mohinder dared repeat himself, Gabriel's certain he would laugh until he cried. But in the dark with Mohinder fisting his dick, more dextrous than the alcohol should allow, there's something about the word "cock" in Mohinder's clipped accent that makes his balls feel heavy and his stomach flip with want.

"Yeah," he moans, lifting his hips in time to the slide of Mohinder's palm, groaning at the feel of Mohinder rutting against his thigh. "Like that."

"Want you," Mohinder sighs.

"Yeah," Gabriel breathes, spreading his legs.

"Want you," Mohinder repeats but there's something in his voice that makes Gabriel draw himself back from the edge and look up.

He squints at Mohinder's face and takes in his slightly puzzled expression. The movement of his hips has changed and he's pressing himself to Gabriel's thigh with slow, deliberate thrusts. It's then that Gabriel notices the glaring absence of Mohinder's own erection.

"Hey, it's ok," he mumbles. But Mohinder's hand has already slipped from Gabriel's underwear to delve into his own pants. Gabriel unbuckles his belt and loosens Mohinder's fly, peeling down Mohinder's clothes to reveal him flaccid.

He cups Mohinder's balls while Mohinder tugs at his soft cock but he doesn't start to harden. Mohinder gives a grunt of frustration and Gabriel hesitates, unsure how Mohinder will react. But then, with a murmured, "Oh fuck it," Mohinder rakes his nails down Gabriel's torso, red welts healing in his wake, until his face is between Gabriel's thighs and his mouth is latched to Gabriel's erection.

"Jesus," Gabriel yelps, weaving two steadying hands into Mohinder's hair as he sucks and bobs and simultaneously kicks away his pants.

There's an intoxicating, toe-curling rumble against his dick but before Gabriel can take a chance to enjoy it, he feels Mohinder's jaw shift as he tries to speak around his mouthful, and Gabriel squeaks, "Teeth!"

Gabriel holds his body tense because although he heals, getting bitten on the cock is not a pain he wants to experience not matter how quickly it fades. Mohinder stays still and eventually, Gabriel relaxes once more. Or rather, he relaxes and then tenses again as he glances down on the tail end of a sigh of relief and catches the wicked expression in Mohinder's eyes.

"Oh god, don't you dare!"

But it's too late, because Mohinder has flattened his palm to Gabriel's hip, preventing him from squirming away and he's dragging his blunt bottom teeth with aching precision up the underside of Gabriel's cock. When he reaches the ridge, his teeth recede and it's lips that clamp around his tip, tongue lashing out to swirl around him. Mohinder pulls off with a self-satisfied pop and Gabriel thinks he might come from the sheer relief of injury avoided.

"Done some of my best work after a night at the pub," Mohinder announces smugly and Gabriel doesn't really have a chance to contemplate that because he's dropped his head and sliding his mouth up and down Gabriel's length with unbridled enthusiasm.

His lips are tight and his tongue is criminal in the way it flicks and slides and laps, and it's no surprise to Gabriel that in hardly any time at all his thighs are tensing and the heat in his balls feels too much to bear.

"Mohinder," he warns. But Mohinder ignores him.

"Mohinder," he says again, louder this time, frantically scrabbling at Mohinder's shoulders because the last thing Gabriel wants is for tonight to end with Mohinder puking on his groin.

"Mohinder!" he yells and Mohinder finally looks up, gasping in shock at the sudden hot splash of come against his chin.

Mohinder is too taken aback, and his reflexes too sluggish, to get it together enough to pump Gabriel through his climax. He simply glances down warily as Gabriel's cock jerks against his belly and sputters the last of his semen beside his navel. He wipes his hands through Gabriel's spunk as it drips down his neck and looks at Gabriel with one eyebrow cocked.

"Sorry," Gabriel mutters but there's no force behind his words. After all, it isn't as if he didn't warn Mohinder to move away. The white wetness smeared about Mohinder's dark, rich skin makes Gabriel's breath catch and his softening cock tries valiantly to twitch again to hardness.

"S'ok," Mohinder murmurs through a yawn, licking a little at his soiled hand before abandoning it in favour of lapping at the small puddle of semen on Gabriel's belly.

Gabriel strokes his hair, teasing his fingers between the curls and smiling a little unkindly to himself as he thinks of how Mohinder will curse in the morning trying to make himself presentable for the wedding with hair that won't cooperate and dark rings beneath his eyes. And maybe he should force Mohinder into the shower now, taking a verbal lashing in exchange for less stress in the morning, but it's unconscionably late. The sound, from his midsection, of Mohinder snoring softly makes the decision for him.

Gabriel drags a blanket around Mohinder and tries to ignore the warm, wet dribble of drool already forming on his stomach where Mohinder has fallen asleep.


End file.
